


Strikhedonia

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: Vergil doesn't take kindly to having his sleep interrupted.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Strikhedonia

**Author's Note:**

> Another tumblr request, this one for an anon ~~or so they say, but I know who it is, ha HA.~~
> 
> Sleepy cranky Vergil amuses me. I couldn't NOT do this.

_**Strikhedonia** \- The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”._

* * *

It is _entirely_ too early, even by Vergil’s standards, when the phone rings.

He comes awake with an indignant snort, a hand lifting to rub tiredly at his face, and turns his head enough to eye the clock on the bedside table, grimacing at the unsympathetic numbers telling him just _how_ early it actually is - memory has not been kind to him lately, keeping him awake till all hours and turning what sleep he does get into an agonising tarantella of pain and fear, and it’s just another kick in the pants that something like _this_ should happen when he’s finally managed to descend into proper restfulness. He is absolutely not getting out of bed to answer that, he thinks; someone _else_ can damn well do it, can’t they?

…Well, now that he thinks about it, that question doesn’t actually have such an easy answer, because he _is_ in a bed in the spare room at Devil May Cry and the only other person there _is_ his brother and Dante _is_ very prone to sleeping through just about anything, and the incessant ringing is proving (much to his annoyance) that Dante is in fact doing just that.

 _How does he even have a business,_ he thinks acerbically, rubs his face again, balefully eyes the creaky wood floor like he’s debating whether to actually put his feet on it and attempt to get up. _How does he even survive like this._

(They are carefully not questions, because he doesn’t actually _want_ to know the answers.)

Then, blessedly, the ringing ceases, and Vergil lets himself slide back down to a prone position, tugging the blankets round himself in an exhausted cocoon and burying his face into the pillow, quickly sagging into the worn mattress like he’s been deflated. Finally, an _intelligent_ caller, one that hangs up to try again _later_ once it becomes clear no one’s picking up, one that--

It rings again, and this time he curses; turns his head to _glare_ at the clock, then at the closed door that is blocking absolutely none of that shrill jangling sound, then grabs the pillow out from under his head and puts it on _top_ instead, pressing it down over one ear and burying the other into the mattress in an attempt to get a little peace and quiet.

_I am not answering that. To hell with it. It’s his own fault if he misses something - I am not my brother’s keeper._

It’s not perfect, but like this he’s at least able to muffle the sound, and the tired spike of vindictive pleasure that comes with deciding he’s _not_ going to play this little game is enough to help him at least relax a bit.

And he smiles to himself when heavy footfalls and the sound of his brother’s tired swearing _finally_ pass his room to silence the ringing beast, letting him doze off once more.


End file.
